


The Seven Wonders of Misty Day

by greenscribbles



Category: American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Comfort, Dancing, F/F, Fluff, Insomnia, Romance, Slice of Life, just so much fluff, spoilers for the series finale, tags to be added accordingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenscribbles/pseuds/greenscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Misty lived to see the Seven Wonders, dammit. And then she made a path to the rainbow's end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Edge of Seventeen (Just Like the White Winged Dove)"

**Author's Note:**

> Current rating may change, though I doubt we'll go anywhere too explicit.  
> I own nothing but bruised feelings.

_The Seven Wonders of Misty Day_

One: “Edge of Seventeen (Just Like the White Winged Dove)”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Misty who gets her to dance again.

Cordelia walks in on her alone in the kitchen one morning. She still can’t say for certain which of Stevie’s songs it is that greets her as she rounds into the dinning nook, but she knows who’s at the source even before she hears the jingle of rings and necklaces in mid-motion. On cue, Misty Day appears from behind the open refrigerator door. Cordelia lingers in place with her arms crossed over her chest, a smile inching across her face, just watching.

It’s self-indulgent and irresponsible, especially for a woman known for self-restraint and a penchant for emotional suppression, and she knows it, but these days, Cordelia is more or less embracing the fact that she gravitates so readily toward Misty. She’s stopped fighting her undeniable attraction to Misty’s candor, and instead indulged herself on Misty’s touches and hugs and compliments, which the other witch so freely gives. Cordelia knows it’s just Misty’s unhindered nature that makes her so readily tactile with people, and doesn’t for a moment stop to think (doesn’t for a moment _let_ herself stop to think) that there’s anything personal about the way Misty puts an arm around her, slips a hand into hers, or rests her head on her shoulder. And, regardless, it actually does Cordelia good to be around someone who enjoys her for her, and who thinks that her botanical alchemy is not only interesting, but so damn cool.

Cordelia has far from forgotten the million and one concerns plaguing this coven, or the million and one more sure to come their way as the new Supreme comes to light (Fiona is _really_ fucking remarkable like that), but having Misty around helps her shoulder those worries with just that much more grace. Misty’s young, but her magic is already reaching a respectable finesse; she’s rough, but talented and undeniably powerful. Her potential helps Cordelia believe that she’s striving for something ultimately worthwhile, that all her fights with Fiona and her fallout with Hank and even her encounters with Marie Laveau are necessary for the future of the coven and the well-being of the women under her care. She’s not wrong to let herself enjoy Misty’s company, or physical affection; it’s worth hanging around Misty because Misty gives her strength and perspective.

Or so Cordelia tells herself, to appease the part of her subconscious that’s been  making caustic remarks about the inappropriateness of crushing on the Cajun witch when there’s a new Supreme emerging. Ever in tune with the guilting, self-punishing side of her consciousness, Cordelia hears her own reprimand loud and clear. She’s berated herself for this ridiculousness, but in the end, she’s chosen not to fight it. She seriously doubts she’ll be able to do much about it anyway, the heart wants what the heart wants and all that. Besides, even Cordelia Foxx’s legendarily strict subconscious can’t argue with the perfection of moments such as the one playing out before her.

Though she’s regained her vision since meeting Misty, Cordelia still associates Misty with the sounds by which she learned to recognize her. Misty sounds like easy footsteps and billowing shawls, snapping fingers and flicking wrists, like countless bangles clinking against each other in gentle rhythm. She sounds carefree and happy and inspired, so different from the other girls that Cordelia had to learn to hear when she lost her sight (a quick laundry list reveals Fiona: insistent, sharp, angry; Madison: calculating, entitled, empty; Zoe: wayward, well-intentioned, observant; Queenie: forceful, defensive, eager; Nan: sincere, knowing, mischievous; Myrtle: self-important, light, dangerous). 

This morning, Misty’s sounds are accompanied by the rhythmic steps of bare feet padding the floorboards in tune to the music. Even in the middle of minding a hot stove, Misty appears incapable of keeping herself from getting lost in little dances. Or of perceiving much of anything, really; Cordelia has been standing in the dining nook for at least half the song now, and Misty has yet to even bat an eye in her direction. She’s busy cracking eggs into a bowl and singing lightly along with Stevie’s throaty vocals, so that she doesn’t actually sing over them. Misty’s so wrapped up in her morning process, so into the song that’s nearing its apex, that Cordelia realizes that she’s not quite willing to intrude on the moment after all. It occurs to her that standing around is actually rude, like she’s prying. She backpedals in an attempt to leave as quietly as possible, and walks backwards right into a cabinet.

The back of her head doesn’t produce a particularly loud thunk when it hits the rattling cabinet doors, but it’s enough to get Misty’s attention at the other end of the room, even through the music’s din. Misty stops dancing abruptly and looks up from the stove with sharp reflex. Her halt in motion is punctuated by the stark crash of her swaying jewelry against her still body and a strong, steadying footfall. Cordelia feels like she’s surprised her in a private moment, and can’t hide her wince of frustration with herself. 

“Oh, Delia, it’s jus’ you,” Misty says, light and happy, as her expression relaxes. And immediately, she’s swaying to the music again. “I thought maybe the girls had gotten back sooner’n they said they would.”

“The girls are out?” Cordelia asks, and walks into the dining room as if that had been her intention from the start. “It’s still a bit early for them, isn’t it?”

Misty wipes her hands on a kitchen rag, dismisses Cordelia’s concern with a wave. “Oh, somethin’ ‘bout getting tickets to a show someplace, I didn’t really care.” A beat, “D’ja eat yet?”

“No, I – uh, I was just coming down to fix myself something.”

“Well, no need for that,” Misty says, “You can share with me. I made too many eggs, anyhow. Sit.”

The thing about festering crushes in the middle of one’s chest is that they tend to make one the slightest bit more obliging. So Cordelia pulls out a chair from the table and takes a seat without protest. Back in the kitchen, Misty down turns the volume on the radio – not enough to mute the music, but enough to avoid either of them having to shout over it to talk. “Toast, Miss Delia?”

“Yes, thank you, Misty,” Cordelia calls back. She intends to sound polite, but it comes out stiff and formal, like a funeral tone. “Is there any coffee?”

“’Fraid all I made was tea,” Misty replies sheepishly, and runs her hand through her hair. “But I can git a pot brewin’ for you no problem, if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” Cordelia says. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, you jus’ stay put,” Misty says. “You do enough around here already. Let someone do somethin’ for you, for a change. ‘Sides, not like I mind makin’ you breakfast. Hell, it even feels cozy.”

Cordelia smiles down at the table and hopes to whatever spirit is shuffling around the house this morning that her cheeks aren’t blushing bright red. As if this crush of hers wasn’t already becoming increasingly difficult to hide, Misty just had to go and turn it up to goddamn eleven.  

The song on the stereo fades as it ends. Misty hums along to the song’s dying tune as she plates their food to keep too thick a silence from falling. It's momentary, but Cordelia still feels it weighing on her idleness. She almost says something, some painful small talk about how the mint sprouts are coming up better than last year, when the sudden and repetitive strum of a guitar breaks the quiet. Loud and smoky vocals erupt against the instruments half a moment later, which Misty belts right along to, not bothering to keep her voice lowered this time. Cordelia mouths the words (it’s one of the few Stevie songs she does know, from repeated playing on the greenhouse stereo), and is content keep time with her fingers on the table.

Misty turns up the volume and lopes over to the table and Cordelia. She takes a seat at the head, and, presumably, has forgotten all about actually serving breakfast. She beams at the headmistress, stares a little too long at her mismatched eyes, “You know, this’s the first one of her songs I ever heard.”

“Really?”

“Right around when I started high school,” she says with a nod. “Musta been, like, fifteen or somethin’?”

Cordelia gives her a mischievous look.

"What?"

“You sure you weren’t - oh, I dunno - on the edge of seventeen?”

“Awwwwwugh, Delia, _no_ ,” Misty groans emphatically.She pinches the bridge of her nose and fights a smile as Cordelia chuckles beside her. “No, don’t laugh, that was awful.”

“Come on, that was good,” Cordelia insists. She’s laughing harder at the grimace on Misty’s face than at her own pathetic excuse for cleverness.  

“That was a terrible pun,” Misty says. She drops her hand into her lap, head shaking, and losing the battle against her smile.  

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Cordelia insists. “I’m even a little proud of it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Misty replies, and finally relents. “But how ‘bout you stick to bein’ headmistress. ‘Cause comedian sure as hell ain’t up your alley.”

“I have no plans to quit my day job, Misty,” Cordelia says _._ “Rest easy.”

“Easier said than done now that I know what you're capable of,” Misty says, smiling. It takes her a moment, but she catches herself starting at Cordelia's face again, and starts with a rap of her knuckles on the table. “Anyway, this song’s too good to waste sittin’ down, so if you’ll excuse me…” She springs to her feet and holds her hands out to Cordelia, who looks up at her quizzically. “Grab my hands.”

“Misty, I don’t –” Cordelia begins, but stops to consider maybe just taking her indulgence this one step further. Her subconscious hits the breaks, and Cordelia sighs, “You know I don’t really dance.”

“I know you can, though,” Misty says, then laces her hands in Cordelia’s with a kind of resolute purpose; hers is always such a sure touch, vibrating with energy and positivity. “Dance with me, Delia.” The words may as well have been an ancient incantation because they work like magic. Cordelia lets Misty pull her up and out of the chair, and doesn’t fight it when the other woman brings her in closer than is strictly necessary. Misty leans in slightly, and Cordelia can smell the mud and lavender on her clothes. “Sometimes all you need’s the right partner.”

There is something different about the way Misty speaks to her in that moment, but Cordelia chooses to read nothing into it. She smiles widely, cheeks probably bright crimson by now. She tries to find something to look at so that Misty doesn’t think she’s staring, while Misty wishes she’d let their eyes meet. Though Misty will admit to being a little grateful that Cordelia isn’t focusing on the way her face twists from amusement to giddiness to admiration under the headmistress’s smile. She squeezes Cordelia’s hands gently for reassurance, and starts rocking

Cordelia follows easily, her hesitation all but evaporated, and matches Misty’s movements with her own. A few more seconds into it, and they’ve both gotten enough into the song that they aren’t hyper-aware of their bodies pressing so closely to each other, or their shared looks and smiles. It’s just them and the music, and it’s a relief for both of them. They share little sashays in the greenhouse when the radio really nails it with the music, usually each woman on her end of the table, mostly staying put so as to not upset their lab work. Dancing with each other isn’t exactly new, but moving across the floor together while clasped at the hands certainly is.

“You lied to me, you know,” Misty says, and starts turning them in a circle.

Cordelia turns in step with her and quirks an eyebrow. “I did?”

“You said you weren’t good at dancin’, but that’s not what I’m seein’ here.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Cordelia says, smirking. “I’m actually pretty great.”

“Easy, there. Your technique’s good,” Misty chides. “But you’re a bit stiff.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“Jus’ keepin’ you humble.”

Misty has imagined dancing with Cordelia before. It’s hard not to when she’s listening to music in her room at night. Her mind wanders from her swamp to her musings on tribe, and has lately gotten into the habit of lingering on Cordelia. She’s enjoyed quiet fantasies about taking Cordelia by the hand during one of their greenhouse jam sessions, and spinning her around the plants and potions. She’s wondered about dancing with Cordelia in her cabin at the swamp, too, and then around her bedroom here at the academy. She’s enjoyed other, less quiet, fantasies about Cordelia, too. Ones she feels kind of ashamed for even having, that make her face burn when she has to look at Cordelia the next day.

She pulls Cordelia in a little closer still, even though this really isn’t that kind of song at all, and tries to read the expression blooming over Cordelia’s face. A tweak of her eyebrows betrays confusion, maybe wonder, or it could be curiosity. But Cordelia doesn’t try to pull back. Misty bites her lip and keeps dancing.

The song winds down, to their mutual chagrin, and as they’re slowly phased back into the world, they’re forced to acknowledge just how intimate they’ve gotten in the past few minutes. Their faces are inches away from eachother’s, close enough so that Cordelia can feel Misty’s breath on her ear, and focus on just how close they’re standing to one another, hips a begrudging inch apart. Misty’s the first to take a step back. She gives Cordelia space, but doesn’t let go of her hands.

There’s deliberate intent behind Misty’s actions. Unabashedly tactile as Misty may be, the way she’s holding Cordelia’s hands now, rubbing the pads of her thumbs softly over Cordelia’s knuckles, carries a bit more weight than her usual touches. Cordelia almost wants to write it all away as a product of her hopeful imagination, leaping to far-fetched ideas at the slightest of gestures, but that’s definitely not what’s going on. Cordelia searches Misty’s face, and in it finds a curious mix of the quiet, free-flowing waif she's come to know and the confident, take-action witch she just spent three minutes dancing around the dining room with. Cordelia takes back one hand, and runs it up Misty’s forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Is everything okay?”

“Delia,” Misty whispers after a moment. “I really like you.”

Cordelia somehow manages to keep her eyebrows from arching in surprise, or her smile from widening into a gape of disbelief. It’s a level of composure worthy of any Supreme; even Fiona would have to admit she was proud. She stops herself from feigning misunderstanding, knows it’s not really an option anymore. “Misty…”

“I know it’s kinda ridiculous, I do,” Misty says, her voice mixing between relief and frustration and shyness. “But I’ve got these real strong feelings about you, and I’ve never felt this way ‘bout anyone before. Suddenly I’m all lit up over you; I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, or lookin’ at you, and I just, really like you.” She stops for a breath, and to run her tongue over her lips. “You know, I came in here lookin’ for my tribe and, hell, I found it. Only, not like I was expectin' to. I found it in you. And I know you got your own thing goin’ and I’m not expectin’ reciprocation, not really, but I thought it’d be best to tell you.”

Cordelia cups Misty’s face in the palm of her hand, fingers against the back line of her jaw, and her thumb on her chin. “Misty Day, I’m going to kiss you now.”

Misty needs no more incentive to bring her face in closer and surrender her mouth to Cordelia. And if Misty ever thought that Delia would kiss the way she lived – careful and ever in control – she finds herself happily mistaken. Cordelia is surprisingly unhindered, the way she presses her lips against Misty’s suggests passion, desire, even release. Misty’s surprised, but encouraged by the change. Cordelia breaks away, pulls back so that she can angle her face and look Misty in the eyes. “I think it goes without saying, then, that I really like you, too.”

A tiny burst of giggles escapes Misty’s throat, and there's a momentary return of sheepishness. “You meant that?”

“With all my heart,” Cordelia says. “And, if you want to, we can give this a shot. See where it takes us.”

“I’d like that very much,” Misty says, and squeezes Cordelia’s hand. “Can I kiss you again?”

“You can kiss me all the time now, I think,” Cordelia says with a little smirk. “So, you know, have fun with that.”

“Oh, I will,” Misty proclaims, as the air of shyness goes out of her, and is replaced with something like kind arrogance. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you don’t try to make any more puns, Stevie-related or no, for as long as this lasts.”

Cordelia pretends to think about it, “Shit, Misty, that’s kind of a deal-breaker. But for you, I guess I’ll try. I can’t promise a damn thing, though.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Misty says in mock resignation, and closes her mouth over Cordelia’s.

Later, when they’ve calmed the poorly-timed Delphine down from her twisted moral high horse, and gotten her to stop shouting about sexual perversions all around the kitchen, they sit down and enjoy their breakfast, cold.

 


	2. Rhiannon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve tried to go along with the timeline as well as I remember it, but I’m pretty sure I’m tripping all over the mid-to-late-season storyline here. I went through Coven once, in a little over a week, so I apologize for any mistakes in the show’s continuity that may pop up here. 
> 
> I don’t know why, but personally, it was a little tricky to keep account of how much time was going by between scenes, let alone entire episodes; like, the pacing either made it super obvious to tell if it was still the same day/night, or impossible to tell if five minutes or a few days had happened between one scene and the next.
> 
> For clarity's sake, though, Part One (chapter one) takes place between Myrtle gifting Cordelia that stunning set of melon-baller eyes and Misty getting locked in the coffin (RyMurph, that was the most pointless plot device I have ever seen in my life). Part Two (this chapter) starts and ends on the day of the Seven Wonders, but most of it takes place in a flashback around Misty getting locked in the graveyard and before the actual day of the Seven Wonders. I know it's kinda convoluted, but I this is the last part of the story that’s gonna take place within the frame of the canon plot, so we're looking at more straightforward setting ahead.

_The Seven Wonders of Misty Day_

Two: "Rhiannon"

 

It’s the sudden lack of Misty’s weight in her arms that cuts Cordelia the deepest.

Misty has gone cold and clammy after lying soulless on the floor for hours, but when Cordelia scoops her up into her lap, at least she can still feel Misty’s body pressing against her own. She’s limp, and it’s seconds to sunrise, but Misty is inarguably there with her. She’s not ready for this to end, not ready for Misty to die, and right as she’s thinking that, Misty dissolves.

One moment, Cordelia is cradling the comatose young witch against her body, whispering the strongest incantation she knows into hell’s abyss; the next, Misty’s entire being flutters into dust, and Cordelia is left sobbing on the carpet, alone, while Misty’s remains filter through her fingers.

And it’s infuriating that there’s no warning. Misty makes no sound or movement as her time runs up, there’s no dramatic gesture to indicate that her soul is forever trapped in hell before she disintegrates into nothingness. Misty simply ceases to exist right in Cordelia’s arms with all the impact of a resigned sigh. It’s too quick, too sudden, too casual.

Disoriented, Cordelia tilts her head downward to where Misty was _just_ laying, but of course she can’t _see anything_ , and there are tears streaming down her face and her hands are shaking just above her knees as the last of the ash flutters to the carpet. And it’s when she starts to cry in big, heaving sobs and even Myrtle’s airy voice can’t bring her back from the anguish.

* * *

 

It had been Misty who had seemed more concerned with the coven’s business of late. It was a little odd considering she’d literally waltzed into the place some weeks before, but understandable, given Myrtle’s unexpected nod of approval at her for ascending Supreme. And since it had become increasingly evident that a Robichaux face-off would be necessary to name Fiona Goode’s successor, Misty had had seven perfectly good reasons to be concerned about future affairs at the school.

But her mind didn’t pick at that gnawing worry when she was with Cordelia, and so Misty had tried her best to intercept the headmistress at every possible turn of her day, and keep her from wandering off too far in her free time. It kept both of them at ease, perhaps at the expense of resolving important issues, but the payoff was wonderful.

For a woman with a reputation for being reserved and distant, Cordelia was the complete opposite when she and Misty got a moment to themselves. She held hands and smiled and would lean in close and talk to Misty between kisses; her breath would tickle against Misty’s ears and dance across the milky skin of her neck. Misty always laughed with genuine zeal, then she’d bring Cordelia in closer and endeavor to kiss her back in kind.

Cordelia learned that Misty kissed with earnest kindness and a possessiveness she would have had trouble associating with the woman before now. Her hands wandered, never lingered for too long on any one place along the line of Cordelia’s body, and she liked to kiss Cordelia along her collarbones. Cordelia learned she loved Misty’s drawl, loved the way Misty said her name, and the way it fell from Misty’s lips when she kissed her.

Misty was less observant, and more perceptive, but she learned all the same. Cordelia kissed carefully, but fully, and Misty could understand that. She learned that Cordelia was actually not afraid to let go of control, and that her mother’s negligence had made her critical of wanting other people’s approval, and wary of enjoying affection too much. But that didn’t stop Cordelia from reaching out to her, which Misty learned was how she showed trust and affection.

Already living in the same house had made things a little tricky, as if steps had been taken too fast and boundaries crossed before they should have been. As a result, the pair took their physical relationship much slower than the situation allowed for. It was one thing to see each other at breakfast every morning and to already know how the other took her coffee or her bagel, but there was a satisfaction to controlling just how much of themselves they let on to the other.

And even with those boundaries, they’d managed to end up sharing a bed twice during their short run.

The first time had been a week and a half into their relationship, on a pink and orange afternoon at the end of a particularly warm day. Cordelia, sick of her office and the various interruptions from the house’s growing number of inhabitants, had settled on top of her bed to do some backlogged paperwork.

Fifteen minutes into it, she was interrupted by a knock.

“Come in,”

The door creaked open, and Misty poked her head into the room. She seemed almost apologetic, and waved a thick botany book over her head, “I know you’re busy, but I have a question about this.”

“Oh,” Cordelia replied, smiling. “Sure, come in. Have a seat.”

Though a little reluctant, Misty made her way around the bed and sat down next to Cordelia, book under her arm. She gave Cordelia a quick kiss on the lips, cautious not to linger too long, or risk irreversible distraction. She nodded at the papers – bills and botany notes – spread out over the comforter , “Long day?”

“No longer than yours,” Cordelia replied. “What’s up?”

“Bot’ny,” she said, and propped the hefty tome open in her lap.

“Oh, well, that’s not general or anything.”

Misty was an adept student, and certainly the only other person Cordelia had met in a while that took to botanical alchemy with her same enthusiasm and interest. And even if she had come to her strictly to talk about root infusions, Cordelia wouldn’t have been the least bit disappointed. Of course, being able to trace circles with her fingers along Misty’s forearms while they talked about root infusions wasn’t a terrible thing, either.  

“You’ve really been at this for years, haven’t you?” Misty said. “There’s nothin’ you don’t know about plants.”

Cordelia shrugged, modest, but didn’t deny anything, “Like you said, I’ve been working with plants for years. You’re catching up quickly, though. We’ll have two master botanists at Robichaux before long.”

“I think you’re givin’ me too much credit,” Misty said through a smile. “But I’ll do my best to catch up.” She made to get up and leave, but Cordelia had caught Misty’s baggy sleeve between her fingers and tugged at her. Misty looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “Yes?”

“Don’t leave. Stay with me a bit.”

“Well, I’m not gonna argue with that,” Misty said, and she’d sat back down next to Cordelia, propped up against the pillows. “Just don’t get too distracted, now.”

“Don’t worry about me,”

And true to her word, Cordelia had gotten on with her paperwork while Misty settled in with the botany book against her chest. They’d lain in comfortable silence for almost an hour, nothing but the tapping of Cordelia’s pen on page after page of paper, and Misty read on as she hummed “Rhiannon” softly between them. It had been Cordelia who spoke first, uncharacteristically overcome by the mood,

“I want it to be like this forever.”

Misty, jogged, had looked up from her book. “What’s that?”

“I like this,” Cordelia had said. “I like this a lot. I want to be able to have afternoons like this – with you – forever.”

“Well, forever might be tricky,” Misty replied. “But I’ll settle for the next few decades…until we figure out actual immortality.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cordelia had replied, and kissed her girlfriend (now _there_ was a funny thought) on the lips before getting back to her work and Misty to her book.

The sunset came and went, replaced by a cool night and chirping insects outside the window. When Cordelia looked up from her paperwork an hour after sundown, she’d found Misty deeply asleep on the other half of the bed. “Oh, Misty…”

She hadn’t had the heart to wake Misty and ask her to leave, despite all their self-imposed boundaries. Cordelia had taken the book and put it on the bedside table, then flipped over her half of the comforter and pulled it over Misty’s shoulders. Eventually, she had fallen asleep next to her, a respectable buffer of blankets between them.

Misty had stirred before sunup, slowly, as she was wont to, and realized mid (audible) yawn that she was not in her bedroom. Behind her, Cordelia slept soundly into the early morning; the clock on the side table read half past four. "Aw, hell."

She did consider staying, but then felt that she’d trespassed enough by spending an unintended night. In her scramble to the door, Misty had hit the one creaky floorboard in the room,and Cordelia had sat up in alarm.

“Shit, sorry, Delia. I – I was just tryin’ to – sorry I feel asleep on your bed.”

“Oh,” Cordelia replied through her sleep. “No problem. I didn’t really mind. I thought it was cute.” She waved Misty over, already settling back into her blankets. “You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to.”

“You sure?”

“I’d like if it you stayed. At least until my alarm rings.”

Misty had crawled right back into bed with Cordelia, once again all touch and no personal boundaries. She spooned Cordelia, looped an arm around her and relished the sensation of Cordelia snuggling into the embrace. Misty had almost nodded back to sleep, and then Cordelia had spoken up.

“You know you snore?”

“Aw, fuck,” Misty said, and bit her lip. “Yeah, I do. Did I keep you up?”

“Not for long,” Cordelia said. “Eventually I just turned you over and you shut up.”

“Good.”

“Of course, I had to turn you over like, three times because you kept rolling back –”

Misty buried her face in the back of Cordelia’s hair and groaned.

 

* * *

 

The second time they’d shared a bed, it had been much more deliberate.

Misty was going on her third night of sleeplessness after being rescued from the coffin deathtrap. It was two in the morning, and already she’d jolted herself awake three times from fighting back the sensation of choking in her sleep. She was making an effort not be overcome, but with every successive rude awakening, she was finding it harder and harder to calm herself back down enough to sleep again.

It wasn’t the dark she was suddenly scared of, that much she understood; she had tried sleeping during the day, but found it just as difficult and unpleasant. She’d considered claustrophobia, but it made even less sense than being afraid of the dark, since Misty had spent at least an hour and a half in the tiny greenhouse shed earlier that day, and not once had she stopped to consider the size of the space. But for whatever reason, her subconscious kept recalling the painful pull of her breath as the oxygen was filtered from the coffin, the crushing pressure of lifelessness against her chest and throat, and she would sputter and cough herself to consciousness.

Forty minutes had crawled by. With the hour teetering closer and closer to three am, Misty knew sleep was not coming back for her. So she had thrown aside her blankets, grabbed her favorite shawl, and made her way down the hall to Cordelia’s bedroom.

 _Like a damn kid_ , she had thought with a flare of irritation. _Can’t even sleep right anymore. This fuckin’ coven, I swear._

Cordelia’s bedroom always seemed closer than Misty thought it was, but she was relieved to reach it quickly that night, without bumping into Madison coming home from an outing or the perpetually wandering Kyle.

She lingered outside, fist raised to the door, completely unsure if she should even bother Cordelia with this. But in the end, she had knocked, and she heard Cordelia’s voice resound clearly from inside, “Come in.”

The room was pitch black save for slivers of blue light slanting against the floorboards. Misty smelled spearmint and pine around the room. “Delia, it’s me.”

“I know,” Cordelia replied from the bed. She sounded just as awake as Misty felt. “You can’t sleep, either, huh?”

"Nope," Misty said. She lingered by the door, running her fingers up and down the hem of her shawl.

"What's the matter?

“I guess it’s a bit silly,” Misty had said with an frustrated sigh. “But I’ve been havin’ a real hard time sleepin’ since I got back. I don’t think about it, but my mind keeps goin’ back to that coffin.”

Cordelia sat up in bed and automatically reached for the lamp on the nightstand. The pale yellow light was useless to her, but at least Misty could see her, and that was comforting. “I wish you would have said something earlier, Misty. You know I could have whipped something up for you.”

“Nah,” Misty says. “You got lots to do already. Plus, I didn’t think it was gonna be a problem. I didn't wanna let it turn into a problem, you know? But I haven’t slept in three days – now I got the Seven Wonders to worry about, too, an’ I’m just a mess.”

“Hey, come here,” Cordelia said. And Misty went with more eagerness than she would have liked to admit into the embrace. “You know you're going kick ass at the Seven Wonders, right?”

“I don't really care how I do. I don't wanna be Supreme, Delia; not even a little bit. But I guess it’s only fair I take the test with the rest of the girls, an' all. Anything to keep Hollywood from getting the title.”

Cordelia kisses her on the forehead. “You’re going to do amazingly, Misty. No matter what happens, you’re going to prove yourself a very powerful witch.”

“I don’t really care about power. I just wanna be happy. An’ I couldn’t give two gator shits who the next Supreme is, even if it _was_ me.”

Cordelia threw her head back in laughter. “You _would_ say that.”

“S’ture,” Misty said. “’Sides, I know I’m powerful. I don’t need some archaic _test_ -" she spits the word out with disdain, " - to tell me that.”

“Which is why you’re going to dazzle all of us,” Cordelia said, and kissed Misty repeatedly with quick pecks on the cheeks – she had amazing aim for a blind woman. “If you make Supreme, I will be honored to follow you.”

“You say that now,” Misty replied, with a little smile. “But, enough about that. Why can’t you sleep?”

“Brain overload,” Cordelia said. “The Seven Wonders have me reeling, too. And then I'm thinking about Fiona."

"You miss her?"

"I don't know," Cordelia said. "And I'm starting to think that makes me a bad person. I can't mourn my mother because I don't feel anything when I think of her, except maybe disappointment."

"I'm not gonna pretend to know how complicated your relationship was," Misty had said. "But bein' conflicted on how you feel 'bout her bein' dead doesn't make you a bad person. Least, not it my book."

"Yeah, but you're biased," Cordelia said with raised eyebrow.

Misty shrugged, "Don't nobody need to know that."

"I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I decided to come over,” Misty said. She leaned into Cordelia, pushing them both back against the blankets until they were both laying prone in the bed; Misty was tucked into Cordelia, her head rested against the other woman’s chest, and Cordelia set her chin at the top of Misty’s head and just listened to her breathe. In Cordelia’s arms, Misty had enjoyed, for the first time since returning to Robochaux’s, the feeling of silence. Cordelia began running her fingers through Misty’s hair at some point, and Misty felt herself being gently lulled to sleep.

“Misty?” Cordelia spoke after long minutes, her voice soft and even.

“Mmm?”

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Cordelia’s fingers stopped moving in her hair, her heartbeat quickened against Misty’s ear. Misty smiled and burrowed her face deeper into Cordelia’s chest, “Well, there’s a relief.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause _I’m_ fallin’ in love with _you_. An’ it doesn’t worry me one bit that I am.”

“Good,” Cordelia said, and resumed tangling her fingers through Misty’s hair. Misty hummed a few bars from “Rhiannon” absently, while her fingers ran up and down Cordelia’s free hand.

“I’m glad I let Zoe drag me in here,” Misty said some time later. “I might not be too crazy about this place, but I met you here, and that’s worth a whole lot.”

“Well, I’m glad you found something redeeming about this madhouse,” Cordelia replied with a tight scoff. “God knows it can’t have been easy.”

“You’re not givin’ yourself enough credit,” Misty said, fingers trailing down the underside of Cordelia's wrist. “You’re worth ten madhouses, Cordelia. No, not even that - you're worth ten _thousand_ madhouses.”

“You’re adorable,” Cordelia whispered, and turned off the light. “Now try to get some sleep.”

It took Misty some time to finally find sleep. She watched the rise and fall of Cordelia’s chest, the way her scarred face looked in the moonlight. Cordelia really was beautiful, even if Cordelia herself was so sure she wasn't. And she was strong and intelligent, and her powers were nothing if not modestly concealed. Fiona Goode may have tried her best to suppress Cordelia's confidence in her abilities, but Misty had seen them and lived them, and she had all the faith in the world in Cordelia Foxx's ability to lead the coven from the darkness in which Fiona had left it.

She had eventually found peace of mind in Cordelia’s embrace, and fell asleep warm and protected.

 

* * *

 

Misty had never wanted to be Supreme. She’d only participated out of a sense of fairness to her and the coven (and, Cordelia thinks, to wipe that smug smile off Madion’s face). She’d done her best, shined even through the tests she wasn’t sure she could conquer, and then – Misty hadn’t even made it to the resurrection test, the one thing she could have passed without trying.

The problem was that while both of them knew Misty could potentially die attempting the Seven Wonders, neither of them had actually thought that she actually might. Misty wasn’t prone to bouts of fatalism, but Cordelia had especially not anticipated such a horrible fate for the woman she loved more with each passing day.

And now Cordelia has lost her again. Only this time, it’s to the eternal entrapment of her hell, a place unreachable by anyone except Misty.

Except.

Fiona had always said Cordelia never understood the true power of being Supreme. The Cordelia judged her for her jetsetting lifestyle of self-indulgence and debauchery because she didn’t know what it was to have the power to make every single one her desires possible with the least bit of effort. The real power of a Supreme was intoxicating and incommunicable, the only thing Fiona ever said that made sense in defense of her selfish actions.

Cordelia's nerves are shot and her emotions frayed, but Myrtle’s insisting the Seven Wonders go on. Worse trails have happened throughout history, and witches have soldiered on despite them. Cordelia swallows and slowly, slowly gets to her feet. She doesn’t want to leave Misty, even if the only thing she has left of her are ashes on the floor. But she gets up, and wipes off her eyes, and follows the girls out of the parlor.

If being Supreme meant as much unimaginable and unrelatable power Fiona cited, then maybe there was a way to rescue Misty from interminable torment after all. Her mother had been the previous Supreme, and in her own way had believed that Cordelia’s true potential was to succeed her.

She alights at Myrtle’s side while the girls play in the yard, and wonders if she’s not late enough to throw her hat into the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read Part One, and thank you to those who gave the story kudos and bookmarks and comments. 
> 
> I hope Part Two was enjoyable (despite the fact that I’ve apparently forgotten how to write more than a few sentences in the past tense?), and that y'all are looking forward to more of this fluff-drabble nonsense. I sure as hell know I am.


End file.
